


but does it fit the crime?

by Strozzzi (butmicoooool)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Begging, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, M/M, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 06:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19420618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butmicoooool/pseuds/Strozzzi
Summary: Crowley catches Aziraphale with his hands in the biscuit tin. Nanny Ashtoreth is not pleased.------Crowley watches as Aziraphale swallows thickly. “I’m s-- I’m s--”“Speak up, dear.”“I’m-- I’m sorry, Miss Astoreth,” Aziraphale says. Then realises what he’s said. “Crowley. I’m sorry--”“No, no, angel.” Crowley feels like it’s Christmas morning. Not that he’s ever celebrated Christmas. “I’m the nanny of this household and you will address me as such.”“Yes, ma’am,” Aziraphale says, reverently. “Nanny Ashtoreth.”





	but does it fit the crime?

**Author's Note:**

> Both Aziraphale and Crowley have vulvas and use he/him pronouns in this fic. You can interpret that however you wish! 
> 
> This is dedicated to Nat "please" Cat and to Duck "asdfgahj" Moles.

Crowley likes being Warlock’s Nanny. He’s always had a knack for theatre, and this is just another performance, another costume. And a rather… fun costume, at that. It’s been a while since he last had to wear makeup, and he’s enjoying the experience of slapping on a red lip every morning. 

The clothes really do make the man, or the woman, or the supernatural entity. Whatever way you want to cut it, the tightness of the corset around him definitely puts a spring in his step, and a swing in his hips. The clack of heels on cobblestone is always a pleasant sound, too. 

Crowley is a demon, he knows how to tempt the minds of men in any form. There’s one mind he’s never tried to tempt, though. Not on purpose, not consciously. Aziraphale has always come to him of his own volition.

Warlock is entertaining himself by breaking all of his toys, so Crowley takes the opportunity to slip downstairs and make himself a coffee while the kitchen’s empty.

Except, it’s not empty. 

“Well, well, what are you up to?” 

Aziraphale turns around so sharply that he knocks the biscuit tin off the counter. It’s a (literal) miracle that Crowley catches it in time. 

“C-- Crowley!” Aziraphale says. Thankfully, he’s dropped the gardener’s disguise, so Crowley can watch as his pale skin heats up red, the tips of his ears burning in embarrassment. 

“Sneaking treats from the biscuit tin?” Crowley says. “You’ll spoil your tea.” 

“It- it’s just-,” Aziraphale stammers. “It’s-- I was only going to have the one.” 

Crowley puts the tin on the counter with a thunk that echoes through the quiet kitchen. He takes a step towards Aziraphale, who has to crane his neck to look up at him. Crowley can see something like fear in Aziraphale’s face, can read the nervousness in his shoulders and his hands, can see how his eye’s keep darting to -- oh, isn’t that interesting. 

Crowley smirks, and feels smugness spread through him. He’s found a fly trapped in his web. This is going to be fun. 

“I know you can never stop yourself at one, Aziraphale” He says. “You are a greedy, greedy boy.” 

“I- I- well, you see, Cr- Crowley, I--” 

Crowley watches as Aziraphale attempts to finish a sentence, and he revels in it. The ~stammer, the hands fidgeting. Crowley remains cool, and disapproving. 

“Now, now, run along,” Crowley says. “And don’t let me catch you sneaking sweets again, or I will be very cross.” 

Aziraphale nods, and miracles himself out of the kitchen. 

Crowley laughs at the space where Aziraphale stood. Then he takes two custard creams and hums to himself as licks out the creamy center and throws the leftover biscuit in the rubbish. 

  
  


________________________________________

  


The second time Crowley catches Aziraphale is at night. 

Warlock’s parents are on a business trip to some boring midlands town, so Crowley is staying overnight at the estate. Usually he plies Warlock with unholy amounts of fizzy jellies and coca cola before departing for the evening. But there’s no peace when the child is looped up on sugar. So Crowley makes warm milk and toast instead and Warlock is fast asleep by 8 pm on the dot. Miraculous. 

That leaves Crowley plenty of time to recline on the overpriced sofa and nap. He dozes off happily, until the clatter of a plate hitting the floor wakes him up. 

Crowley hears a quiet “Sh- fuck!” from the kitchen. He creeps over to investigate, and finds Aziraphale delicately picking pieces of ceramic off the floor. The fridge door is open, revealing a blueberry cheesecake with an unauthorized slice taken from it. 

“No one was to touch that cheesecake until Mr. Dowling returned from business.” Crowley’s voice is sharp. It makes Aziraphale jump to attention, and drop the piece of plate he was holding. His eyes are wide as the dinner plate he just broke, and his mouth opens and shuts uselessly as Crowley stares at him sternly. 

“Tsk, tsk, Aziraphale,” Crowley says. “What have you done?” 

“I-- I can fix it?” Aziraphale says, but his voice shakes. “I-- I was going to miracle the cheesecake back, I swear.” 

“I don’t want to hear it, angel.” Ceramic cracks under the heel of Crowley’s boot. “Get the dustpan and brush and sweep this up immediately.” 

Aziraphale nods, red faced, and rushes to comply. Crowley watches him, and delights in how Aziraphale squirms under Crowley’s stern gaze. When every last crumb is swept he returns the broom and stand before Crowley, head bowed. 

“I am very disappointed in your behaviour,” Crowley says. Aziraphale folds his hands in front of him, refusing to meet Crowley’s eyes. “Look at me when I am speaking to you.” 

Aziraphale snaps to attention, feet together, arms at his sides, back ram-rod straight. 

“That’s more like it,” Crowley’s voice is on the edge of purring. “See? You can follow instructions.” 

Crowley watches as Aziraphale swallows thickly. “I’m s-- I’m s--”

“Speak up, dear.” 

“I’m-- I’m sorry, Miss Astoreth,” Aziraphale says. Then realises what he’s said. “Crowley. I’m sorry--” 

“No, no, angel.” Crowley feels like it’s Christmas morning. Not that he’s ever celebrated Christmas. “I’m the nanny of this household and you will address me as such.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Aziraphale says, reverently. “Nanny Ashtoreth.” 

Crowley runs the tip of a red fingernail along Aziraphale’s jaw. Aziraphale swallows thickly, trying not to move a muscle.

"Coming into the kitchen to sneak cake?” Crowley says. “What a naughty, naughty boy.” 

“I-- p- please,” Aziraphale stammers. 

“Well if you want to eat, then eat.” 

“Oh?” Aziraphale turns to the cheesecake on the counter, a look of confusion on his face. 

"On your knees, angel." 

“Oh!” Aziraphale falls instantly, knees hitting the tile. But he barely winces at the pain. 

Crowley takes a moment to admire him. He circles Aziraphale in slow steps, the angel doesn’t move a muscle. 

“First biscuits, then cake… we need to tame your wandering fingers.” Crowley stops when he is out of Aziraphale’s sight. “Hands behind your back.” 

Aziraphale obeys. Crowley reaches down and undoes Aziraphale’s bowtie, then uses it to secure Aziraphale’s hands behind him. 

“There,” Crowley says proudly, running his hands over the knot. “Maybe that will keep you in your place.” 

Crowley walks back round. Aziraphale is beautiful, neck strained to look up at Crowley, top buttons of his shirt undone, sweat beginning to form at his temples and the hollow of his throat. 

“Hmm,” Crowley crosses his arms, taps his chin. “But you’ve been such a naughty boy, I’m not sure if you deserve a treat.” 

“Oh, oh- please, Cr- Nanny, I-- I will, please,” The words rush out of Aziraphale all at once. “I can assure you, I-- I have learned my lesson, let me-- please, please, Nanny Ashtoreth.” His shoulders move as if they want to break free of their hold, but one look from Crowley and Aziraphale is still again. 

Crowley gets one of the kitchen chairs, drags it slowly across the tile. He doesn’t break eye contact with Aziraphale as he sits and slowly, maddeningly slowly, hitches up his skirt and chemise. He reveals black lace panties that look like they would be uncomfortable on an actual human woman, but on a 6000 year old demon are just fine. Plus, Crowley knows Aziraphale will get a kick out of them. 

“Oh! You’ve…” Aziraphale trails off. His eyes are comically wide. “We usually…” He looks down at himself, at the rather large bulge in his own trousers. “Should I…?” 

Crowley shakes his head. “We’re not gonna get that far tonight, angel.” He slips his knickers off, then tucks them in Aziraphale’s breast pocket. Crowley sits back and watches Aziraphale watching him spread his legs. Crowley touches himself then, lightly around his clit, just to feel it, teasing himself, just to watch Aziraphale lick his lips. 

“It’s…” Aziraphale sounds out of breath. “Well, it looks marvelous.” 

“Enough talking, time to put that mouth to real use.”

He’s close enough to reach out a foot and press it into Aziraphale’s crotch. Crowley applies just enough pressure to get Aziraphale to lean forward, then Crowley surges forward and grabs the angel by the hair, and presses him to the heat between his legs. 

Aziraphale’s breath over his cunt makes Crowley moan, head thrown back. Aziraphale seems unsure of where to start, nosing cautiously along Crowley’s folds.

“Use your tongue, angel.” Crowley says sharply.

Aziraphale flattens his tongue and licks slowly up to Crowley’s clit. He gives that a lick, too. He takes his time in teasing the sensitive skin there, then down to his entrance. It’s gentle, loving, and is driving Crowley insane. 

“I’d like to get off this century, please.” 

Aziraphale hums his annoyance, and grazes his teeth along Crowley’s pussy, just a warning before going back to licking into him. He doubles his efforts, not bothering to breathe as he eats Crowley like he’s manna from heaven. 

Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale’s hair is vice-like as he pushes himself up to meet Aziraphale’s mouth, Aziraphale’s tongue. Crowley’s hips thrust against Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale just takes it, tongue out, as Crowley uses him to get himself off. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ ” Crowley grits the words out. “Azira _phale,_ Azira- ah, ah- _zira-”_ He can’t stop his voice from cracking as he comes, flooding Aziraphale’s mouth.

Crowley collapses back onto the chair. He tries to say something like ‘ _good job’_ or ‘ _nice one’_ but he can’t form the words. Aziraphale is not in much better state either, his hair a tangled halo around his slick-soaked face. 

“Crowley--” he starts, but doesn’t seem to find the rest of the sentence. 

They spend another minute gazing at each other. 

Crowley exhales heavily, “Well, put that on the list.”

Aziraphale smiles in agreement. He really has no right to look so innocent after what he’s done. But he just radiates goodness at all times. It would piss Crowley off if it wasn’t his favorite thing in the world. 

“Now angel,” Crowley says, fixing his skirts. “As for your punishment.” 

Aziraphale licks his lips. “Y-- yes, of course.” 

“You are not allowed to touch yourself.” Crowley smirks. “Or come. At all.” 

“Un- until when?” 

“Until I say so.” 

“May I…” Aziraphale’s eyes flick down, and his head nods in a way that seems to say _my I please deal with my painful erection?_

“No you may not.” Crowley snaps his fingers and Aziraphale’s hands are unbound. “Run along now, angel. Nanny is very busy.” 

Aziraphale stays there on his knees, aching and open mouthed, as Crowley walks away. Not a hair out of place. 

  


________________________________________

  


Crowley is in the Bently, speeding back to London. The Dowlings have decided to have a ‘Family Bonding’ weekend, whatever that means, so all grounds staff have been given the weekend off. Crowley was looking forward to 48 hour nap, after an evening of getting absolutely sloshed with a certain representative of Heaven. 

_TGIF_ he texts Aziraphale. 

He gets into the city a lot earlier than expected. Crowley assumes Aziraphale has miraculously cleared traffic for him, so he heads straight to the bookshop.

He marches in unannounced as usual. Unusually, he is still in his Nanny attire, long black skirt, pinned hair, dark red lipstick. What can he say, it’s a fun weekend look. Crowley intends to magic it away, but he does love the way Aziraphale blushes when Crowley is in a dress. 

So Crowley nudges open the door to the backroom with the toe of his snakeskin boot. He expects to find Aziraphale with his nose in a book and a long-forgotten mug of tea at his elbow. What Crowley doesn’t expect to find is Aziraphale, one leg thrown over the armchair he’s sitting in, with his hands working furiously between his thighs. 

Crowley’s first instinct, oddly enough, is anger.

“Aziraphale,” He snaps. “I don’t recall giving you permission.”

Aziraphale looks up then, only now noticing the demon towering over him. He withdraws his hands immediately, putting them up in surrender. The wetness on them shines in the light. Crowley whips off his sunglasses, puts his hands on his hips, and fixes Aziraphale with a look that could boil water.

“Aziraphale,” he repeats. 

“It—I wasn’t—” Aziraphale moves then, but as he tries to stand up he trips on the trousers around his ankles and ends up falling face down on the floor. Crowley lets him fall. Then, with a snap of his fingers, Aziraphale is naked. 

Aziraphale pushes up onto his elbows in an attempt to get up, but Crowley puts a foot between his shoulder blades and knocks him back to the floor. 

“I am so disappointed in you, Aziraphale,” Crowley says, grinding his heel a little into Aziraphale’s back. “One rule. Don’t touch yourself. That’s all you had to do- or not do.” 

Crowley removes his foot, but without missing a beat he reaches down and grabs a fistful of golden curls. He cranes Aziraphale’s head back, painfully. 

“You’re an angel, aren’t you? I thought you were meant to follow orders.” Crowley watches as that remark sinks in, and the blush on Aziraphale’s cheeks deepens to a burning crimson. Crowley’s favourite colour. He wonders if any other part of Aziraphale can flush so beautifully. 

“I’m—I couldn’t, Crowley I couldn’t!” Aziraphale sounds so defeated, desperate - like he’s on the verge of tears. Perfect. 

Crowley kneels down so Aziraphale can see him more clearly. He pouts, still gripping Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Aww, poor angel,” Crowley coos. “You just can’t stop your hands from getting sticky, can you?” 

“I’m sorry, please, forgive me,” Aziraphale begs. The wetness in his eyes threatens to spring free. 

“You’ll have to earn that, I’m afraid,” Crowley says. 

Aziraphale’s eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, and he sighs in relief. “Anything, I’ll do anything,” he says. 

“You can start by cleaning up your mess.” Crowley tugs on Aziraphale’s hair, pulling him up onto his feet, and over to the chair where Aziraphale had been touching himself. “Look at what you’ve done to the chair.” 

There is indeed a small wet patch. Crowley pushes Aziraphale’s nose in it. “Clean it.” 

“Is there really a need for this?” Aziraphale grumbles into the leather. 

“I said, clean it.” 

“Oh, alright. If you insist…” 

Crowley can hear the eye roll in Aziraphale’s tone, and the angel earns himself a sharp tug on his hair for it. 

“Show me what that tongue can do.” 

That gets him back into the spirit of things, and Aziraphale licks up his mess in one smooth lick. “There,” he says, smacking his lips together as if he were sipping on a vintage merlot. 

“Sure you got all of it?” 

“I’m quite sure.” 

“Hmmm,” Crowley reaches his free hand down between Aziraphale’s legs and runs his fingers along Aziraphale’s slit. He withdraws, and wipes his slick-covered hands on the chair. And in a stage whisper he says, “I think you missed a spot.” 

He doesn’t give Aziraphale the chance to respond. He presses his face down into the cushion of the chair and at the same time, returns his other hand down to slip two long fingers inside Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale moans deeply into the chair as Crowley fucks his fingers into him. Though Crowley hates to admit it, Aziraphale’s cunt is heavenly. 

“You really outdid yourself on this one, angel,” He says. His voice is unaffected, casual, as if discussing the weather “Is this the first time you’ve given yourself a cunt? That why you couldn’t keep your hands off yourself? You gave yourself a nice little fanny and just couldn’t resist. I bet you’ve been in here for hours playing with yourself.” 

Crowley lets go of Aziraphale’s hair, and grips the back of his neck instead. This lets him move his head to the side so he can breathe and look Crowley in the eye. 

It takes Aziraphale a moment to catch his breath and mumble out: “I was… inspired.”

“Inspired, eh?” 

Aziraphale, despite being half smothered in the chair, manages to look seductive as he licks his lips and fixes Crowley with a half-lidded gaze. 

“You are my divine inspiration, darling,” Aziraphale’s voice is too honest, too tender for the roles they’re both trying to play. It’s almost, almost enough for Crowley to break character. 

Crowley can’t stand it, he moves his hands to Aziraphale’s face, pulling him, dragging him up to standing, and kisses him. 

Crowley’s left hand is covered in Aziraphale’s slick and it gets all over Aziraphale’s face, hair, neck as they kiss. Aziraphale catches Crowley’s hand, and sucks the fingers that were inside him into his mouth. Crowley can only watch in awe. Aziraphale is a wreck, hair a mess, lips bruised, and lipstick smudged all over his mouth and jaw. _And_ he’s sucking Crowley’s fingers and moaning like it’s the finest Parisian pastry he’s ever tasted. 

When they are clean, he releases them with a gasp. 

“There’s a good boy,” Crowley’s voice is low, dangerous. 

“Have I earned your forgiveness?” Aziraphale asks.

“It’s not that easy, angel,” Crowley says. “You need to be punished.” 

Then he steps back, so he’s not touching Aziraphale anymore. Aziraphale’s brow furrows. He’s still catching his breath, chest heaving. Crowley walks backwards onto the couch that hasn’t been _used_ this evening, and sits down in the middle of it. . 

Silence. 

Crowley slowly runs his hands down his thighs as if to smooth out his skirt. 

Then, two quick pats of his lap. 

Aziraphale doesn’t speak, but nods. The blush travels down his chest, and his thighs glisten with his arousal.

Crowley places his hands on Aziraphale’s hips, and guides him until Aziraphale is straddling one of his legs. Aziraphale gasps as he grinds himself down on Crowley’s thigh, his hands flying up to clutch at Crowley’s shoulders. 

Crowley _tsks_ as Aziraphale settles. “You are so wet,” he says, running his hands along Aziraphale’s back, then down to feel his cunt. Aziraphale takes it as encouragement and grinds down harder. 

“You’re going to ruin my skirt,” Crowley tuts. 

“I’ll pay for the dry cleaning,” Aziraphale mutters, almost to himself, as he works himself closer to the edge. “Oh-- _oh,_ Crowley, I’m--” 

Then Aziraphale’s hips are being lifted and he’s being thrown over Crowley’s lap, face once again pressed into the upholstery. 

Then the first slap hits, and it rocks Aziraphale forward. 

“ _Fuck,”_ he gasps into his hands. 

“Language, young man,” Crowley reprimands. Then gives Aziraphale three quick slaps across his arse. His legs flail a little behind him, but he’s neck is secure in Crowley’s grasp. 

“Stop kicking, or I’ll have to get the ropes out.” Crowley warns.

Aziraphale’s legs give one final hurrah before settling. He tries to say something, but the words come out too slurred and unintelligible. 

“Oh, it is nice having you spread out like this,” Crowley says. He savours the feel of Aziraphale’s skin under his fingertips, the whole soft expanse of it. He teases him by tracing down his spine, along the backs of his thighs, dipping in between his legs to feel the wetness there.Aziraphale is so twitchy in his lap, constantly bracing himself for the next hit that just won't come. Aziraphale’s attempts at speech eventually form into one word: _please._

Crowley waits until Aziraphale is really wound up, and then gives him what he wants. The _smack_ of Crowley’s hand against Aziraphale’s skin is so satisfying - the sound fills the room as Crowley delivers blow after blow.

He goes until Aziraphale’s whimpers and bitten back curses melt into silence. Gently, Crowley runs his hands along burning red skin. Aziraphale is limp in his lap, doesn’t even flinch as Crowley rubs between his thighs, and slides a couple of fingers inside of him. He moves inside him gently, just enjoying the feeling of Aziraphale around his fingers.

“Crowley--” Aziraphale says wetly. “I can’t--” 

“Shhh,” Crowley soothes. “You’ve taken so much, angel. Let me make you feel good.”

“I-- I want--” 

“Tell me, I’ll give you anything.” 

“What I… In the… kitchen, before--” Aziraphale struggles to get the words out as Crowley continues to finger him. “What did for you-- I want that.” 

The realization hits Crowley. “You want me to eat you out? Use my tongue on you? Devour you?” 

Aziraphale just nods, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Well let me show you how it’s done.” Crowley withdraws his hand, and taps Aziraphale on the back of his thighs. “Up, up.” 

Crowley helps a shaky Aziraphale to his feet. For a moment, they’re face to face. Aziraphale looks wrecked, his eyes wet, tears streaking down his cheeks, lips bitten red. Crowley can’t stop from giving him a gentle kiss, just the press of lips. He wipes Aziraphale’s tears away, smoothes down his messy curls. 

“Sit down, I’ll take care of you.” 

“Sitting?” Aziraphale winces. 

Crowley thinks for a minute. “Hmm. How are your knees?” 

Aziraphale looks down as if to double check his knees are there. “They’re… fine?” 

“Alright then.” Crowley winks. Then he lies down on the couch and gestures towards himself. “C’mon Aziraphale, sit on my face.” 

“ _Sit_ on your _face?_ ” Aziraphale looks horrified. “What if I were to, to crush your neck?” 

“What a way to go, eh?” 

“I don’t…” Aziraphale looks flustered. “People do this? Actually… you know?” 

“Every day,” Crowley says. “Giddy up now.” 

Aziraphale reluctantly follows Crowley’s instructions. He kneels over Crowley, knees to his shoulders, So Aziraphale can lean over and brace his hands on Crowley’s chest, which is still covered in Crowley’s Nanny costume. His skirt is fanned out below, and it really is a sight to behold. 

Aziraphale settles over him, nervously hovering. “Like this?” 

“You need to be a bit closer so I can actually get at you.” Crowley grabs at Aziraphale’s thighs, but he remains stubborn and unmoving. 

“I’m just worried about you being… uncomfortable.” 

“Trust me, angel, I have the best seat in the house.” 

“Funny,” Aziraphale is smooth despite his blush and his shaking thighs. “I was just thinking the same thing.” 

He is eventually coaxed down by the caress of Crowley’s hands on his waist and inner thighs. Aziraphale lowers himself onto Crowley’s waiting mouth. That first touch of tongue on his folds makes Aziraphale jolt, and he tries to pull away. But Crowley hangs on and chases him with his tongue. 

Aziraphale gives in, then, and throws caution to the wind. Crowley finds himself with a mouthful of angelic pussy. Above him, Aziraphale gasps, “ _Crowley._ ” and claws at the fabric covering Crowley’s chest. He grinds down against Crowley’s tongue. “Oh, Crowley… it’s--” 

Crowley hums smugly into Aziraphale’s cunt, teasing at his clit. Aziraphale can’t stop the whiney, gasping noises that escape him. Crowley drinks up every surprised ‘ _oh!’_ He works his tongue inside Aziraphale and the gasps melt into moans. 

“Crowley, It feels-- I’m going to--” 

Crowley grips Aziraphale’s thighs harder and smothers himself in his cunt. He doesn’t stop, even as Aziraphale comes above him. He keeps teasing and licking, showing Aziraphale what exactly his tongue can do. (He was a snake, afterall. He still has a few tricks up his sleeve.) 

“Crowley, _Crowley,_ it’s too much. I can’t, I can’t…” Aziraphale pants. But he doesn’t pull away, and Crowley doesn’t let up.

“I'm-- _fuck_.” Aziraphale is in agony as another orgasm rushes out of him. He throws his head back, body going wire-taut. 

There is a beat of absolute silence and stillness, then he’s collapsing back into the arm of the couch. “Oh,” Aziraphale tries to catch his breath. “Oh, that was… my _god._ ”

Below him, Crowley wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Oh, stop it.” Aziraphale nudges at him with his knee. 

Crowley licks the slick from his lips, but it doesn’t do much to clear the wetness dripping down his chin. 

Aziraphle nudges him again. “Please sit up so I can kiss you.” 

“Dunno, I’m pretty comfortable down here,” Crowley grins, and cushions his hands behind his head. “Might go for a bit of a kip.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice is a whine. It’s needy and high pitched, and he really should be embarrassed by it but he doesn’t care, he just wants to wipe that stupid, smug grin off Crowley’s face. 

“Alright,” Crowley laughs. He sits up and pulls Aziraphale back into his lap. 

They kiss. 

Time stretches out between them, around them. They are indifferent to the passage of it. It doesn’t matter, their world has crystallized into this one point: the touch of lips, the nip of teeth, the taste of Aziraphale’s wetness between them. 

Aziraphale’s hands are steady as he finally unbuttons Crowley’s dress. He moves calmly as he slides the dress and chemise up and off of Crowley. Aziraphale goes to his knees. 

Aziraphale looks serene, gazing up at Crowley. 

“Have I been forgiven?” Aziraphale whispers against Crowley’s center. 

Crowley looks at him confusedly for a brief second, before he remembers their game. 

“Have I been forgiven, ma’am,” Aziraphale asks again. “May I have my treat?” 

Crowley is suddenly overcome by the sight before him. His authoritative has evaperated, nanny persona lost, unable to be recovered. He can’t move. He is pinned under Aziraphale’s gaze.

“Darling,” Aziraphale murmurs, face resting on Crowley’s thigh. He closes his eyes and presses his nose to Crowley’s skin. “Please. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, about your taste and the feel of you.” Aziraphale brushes his lips up, towards the heat between Crowley’s legs. He hands follow, but stop short at the crease of Crowley’s hip.

“I want to touch you, I have dreamt of this, of you.” Aziraphale looks up, pleading. “Please, _please_ , I promise to be so good, if you would just allow me to--” 

Crowley realizes he’s been holding his breath since Aziraphale fell to his knees. He lets out a shuddering breath and nods. “Yeah,” is all he manages to say. 

“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale says, and then again, quieter, almost to himself. “ _Thank you_.” 

His hands are shaking as he presses two fingertips into Crowley’s cunt. Slowly, he sinks into Crowley’s heat. Crowley can barely think around the feel of Aziraphale’s fingers moving inside him, so gentle and so soft, it’s almost painful. 

Aziraphale says, with quiet reverence, “You are beautiful.” 

Crowley shuts his eyes against it all, and loses himself in the maddening press of Aziraphale’s hand. 

“You are… I have no words for how breathtaking you are, Crowley.” He moves his fingers out and then back in. It makes Crowley’s breath hitch, so he does it again, and again, and again, and again. “Simply marvelous.” 

Then Aziraphale brings his mouth to Crowley’s heat, and licks a slow stripe up to his clit as he continues to gently fuck him.

Crowley is burning, his whole body feels like it’s on fire, like he is going to combust if Aziraphale keeps going - it’s agony. Blissful, beautiful agony. He won’t speak for fear of the sounds he’ll make if he opens his mouth. He refuses to so much as gasp.

When Aziraphale slides in another finger, he just stops breathing. His lack of sound and movement causes Aziraphale to look up, confused. He sees Crowley, looking pained, fist in his mouth to bite back his moans. Aziraphale freezes.

“Crowley?” There is worry in his voice. He begins to move his hands away, but Crowley grabs him by the wrist and fucks himself back onto the angel’s fingers. 

Crowley wants to say something to soothe Aziraphale’s worry. He attempts to say something like, “Everything is perfect, angel, you are perfect, please never stop touching me, never stop fucking me. Your mouth is like heaven, I want you here between my legs for the rest of eternity.” 

What comes out is something like, “eeehskrubbtsfffguh,” and a long moan that vibrates through his whole body. Air floods back into his lungs, his brain comes back online and he is eventually able to spit out a very laboured. “Aziraphale, _please._ ” 

Aziraphale flashes a smile like Crowley just asked him to do the Gavotte. 

Then, he goes back to eating Crowley out like he’s today’s special at the Ritz. Crowley lets himself moan, pressing himself down on Azirahale’s fingers. He puts his hands on Aziraphale’s head but doesnt grip his hair. He just cups the back of Aziraphale’s head gently. He’s not demanding, but silently begging for _more, please_. And maybe he says it out loud. Or maybe Azirapahle can read his mind, because there’s another finger, there’s more pressure on his clit. Aziraphale’s other hand clings to Crowley’s thigh.

Crowley’s orgasm builds up, and his hips are off the couch, pressing impossibly closer and closer to Aziraphale. He digs his heels into Aziraphale’s back, gripping on for dear life. Aziraphale, god bless him, doesn’t try to hold Crowley still, just follows along after him as he writhes.

“Aziraphale, _Aziraphale..._ ” Crowley pants. “Azira--” And then he’s coming, tightening on the fingers inside him, pleasure flowing out of him. His fingers are tangled in Aziraphale’s hair. 

He falls back, and Aziraphale keeps going. His fingers are still inside Crowley, but his tongue is still working his clit.  
“Angel, I can’t.” It takes every ounce of strength Crowley has to put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and push him away. “I can’t. Please, please have mercy.” 

Aziraphale pulls away. Crowley looks down at him, meets his gaze. Aziraphale looks like a man possessed. His eyes are burning, his lips are wet. Crowley only gets one breath in before Aziraphale rushes up to crush them together in a kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth and Aziraphale’s hands skimming all over Crowley’s skin. 

Crowley allows it, wouldn’t stop it if he could. He lets Aziraphale push him onto his back, lets Aziraphale climb over him, lets Aziraphale worship him between kisses. 

“Crowley,” he says. “You are magnificent, I am… I could spend… _years_ kissing you… you are... you...” 

Crowley feels something like desperation in Aziraphale’s touch, can feel the heat building up in him again. So he reaches down to finger Aziraphale’s cunt. Aziraphale moves against Crowley’s hand, hips twitching. He’s so sensitive, and so _wet._ It doesn’t take long before Aziraphale in on the edge of another orgasm. 

“How does it feel?” 

“It feels- it’s so-” Aziraphale rests his forehead against Crowley’s. “It- it-- I can’t.” 

“I’ll tell you,” Crowley says. “You feel amazing, angel. So wet for me, so good. I love the feel of you on my fingers. I could just keep you here, fucking you, the taste of you on my tongue forever. Watching you come over and over again, never letting you go.” 

“Crowley--” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be letting you go, angel.” 

“ _Crowley--”_ Aziraphale clutches at Crowley, gasping into his mouth. 

Crowley basks in it, as Aziraphle comes. He watches as Aziraphale’s face twists, eyes screwed shut, nose scrunched, mouth open, fingers digging hard into Crowley’s shoulders. Hard enough to bruise, hopefully. Crowley focuses on fucking Aziraphale through it, feeling the clench of Aziraphale’s cunt on his fingers, the slick flooding out of him. He mutters nonsense in Aziraphale’s ear. _Beautiful, gorgeous, heaven sent._

Aziraphale hides his face in Crowley’s neck while he catches his breath. Crowley runs a hand down his back, holding him close. A few moments pass, Aziraphale’s heart stops racing and he starts to kiss his way back to Crowley’s li

Eventually they settle, Aziraphale’s head resting on Crowley’s chest, Crowley’s arms wrapped around him. 

“I think we missed our reservation,” Crowley says. “At least we had plenty to eat here.” 

“Oh, my dear, you are filthy.” Aziraphale huffs out a laugh and swats Crowley’s chest. “I don’t think I can walk after all that.” 

Crowley snaps his fingers and they instantly find themselves in bed, under cool cotton covers.

“Was that necessary?” Aziraphale says. 

“I was completely frivolous and entirely necessary,” Crowley says. They fall quiet for a moment. He runs his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Thank you, dear, for always… indulging me,” Aziraphale says.

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley says. “It’s my job to indulge you.” 

Aziraphale hmms, content. Crowley kisses the top of his head, breathes in his smell. 

“Go to sleep, angel.” 

“Wake me when the Ritz starts serving lunch.” 

“I’ll get us a table.” 

They go quiet. Crowley is just on the edge of falling asleep when Azirphale says,

“And for dessert, maybe we can try it the other way around?”

“What?” 

“That whole face-sitting business, I rather enjoyed it.” 

“Yeah?” Crowley grins. 

“Yes, and I would like to try it the other way around, next time.” 

“Oh?” Crowley is suddenly very awake. He cups Aziraphale’s jaw and tips his head up. “Well let me know when I can make a reservation.” 

“For you,” Aziraphale says. “I am always free.” 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> can I get a wahoooo


End file.
